


Other People Have Maps Of The London Underground On Their Knees (His Is On His Back And It's A Hell Of A Thing)

by SomeoneAsGoodAsYou (the_wanlorn)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe just wants Lucifer to feel good, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Needs a Hug, Massage, Post-Season/Series 04, Scars, Whumptober 2019, but like, flippant discussion of self harm, only kind of a sexy one, what if the wing scars didn't go away even though his wings were back???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wanlorn/pseuds/SomeoneAsGoodAsYou
Summary: Ever since Lucifer got back from Hell, his scars have been bothering him.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506890
Comments: 22
Kudos: 306





	Other People Have Maps Of The London Underground On Their Knees (His Is On His Back And It's A Hell Of A Thing)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final Whumptober 2019 fic I have written! Now I don't need to think about it ever again.
> 
> Thanks to [@namedawesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/davethetennant/pseuds/namedawesome) for looking this over for me and also giving me the idea of the title.

She had expected the scars to be gone.

It made sense to Chloe. If the appendages in question were back, if divine intervention had caused his wings to return, shouldn't the scars be gone? There was nothing missing anymore. It would be a most cruel thing of God to return his wings to him only for the scars to remain.

So when Lucifer flinched away from her when she went to touch his back, it came as a surprise. A hurtful one, at that. Maybe they weren't back to where they'd been before he'd left her. She had thought- But, no, they had never talked about anything. Never said the words that would make this something more.

"They're just still sensitive, darling," he said when he turned.

"What happened?" she asked, still not making the connection between him not wanting her to touch his back and his wings, assuming it was something that happened in Hell.

"The air in Hell dried them out a bit," he said and added, when her brow crinkled in confusion, "My scars? Surely you haven't forgotten them; you were quite affected by their ugliness when you first saw them."

"Your- Oh, from when you cut off your wings? I thought they would have disappeared when your wings came back." She didn't know if she should point out that it wasn't their ugliness she had been horrified by, but rather the ugliness inside whoever had done that to him.

"The ones from the first time did," he said, sounding utterly blasé about the whole thing. "But I guess Dad got sick of healing the skin after, oh, maybe the tenth time I cut them off?"

"The tenth-" she said faintly, reaching out for the edge of the couch to steady herself.

"Well, yes, I was hardly going to let them stay on me at first." He looked confused and her heart went out to him. "I didn't want the bloody things in the first place, and then they kept coming back, so…"

She covered her mouth with her other hand, trying to picture being desperate enough to cut off one of her arms over and over again.

"Detective?" Lucifer asks, sounding concerned, and she realized she had closed her eyes. She waved him off, shaking her head and swallowing. "If I'd realized this would upset you so…"

"Of course it upsets me," she said, trying to sound steady even if inside she was shaking with rage and horror. She hadn't considered the implication before: that Lucifer, who so hated being forced into anything, wouldn't view having wings as anything but another violation. But at the same time- "Lucifer, that'd be like me cutting off my legs over and over again and then-"

"Yes, but it-" He stopped and looked away.

"But it was just you?" she finished for him. "That doesn't make it okay or right."

He scoffed at that. "But of course it was okay for Dad to continually force them on me, is that it? It's his right as creator of all this." He waved an arm in an expansive gesture encompassing the world and the cosmos and everything in them.

"No," she snapped before he could get carried away. "That's not okay either. That is- That's so far beyond okay I can't-" She took a deep breath. "But you hurting yourself over and over isn't the-"

"Yes, yes, it was self harm and self harm is bad; Doctor Linda already went over that years ago," he said, rolling his eyes. "Let it go, Detective." Her worry must have been more obvious than she thought because he added a quiet, "Please."

She nodded and continued to the kitchen to start dinner, Lucifer following behind.

* * *

Chloe couldn't get it out of her head, the way Lucifer had rolled his eyes and said _self harm_ like it was some kind of joke. Like he didn't believe that it was a thing to worry about. Like he didn't believe _he_ was a thing to worry about. It rankled her. Didn't he know how much she cared about him? How that meant she didn't want him to hurt?

No, she didn't think he did.

She cautiously brought up the topic of his wings and the scars again, intending to address it, only for him to say, sounding cross, "What is your fascination with these scars? Have a bit of a fetish, hm?"

She laughed out loud at that, the thought ridiculous. How could anyone look at the spots where someone had obviously taken a knife to him and find them a turn on? She knew what happened and they still made her slightly sick to look at. Imagining him in that much turmoil and that much pain made her want to walk up to God and slap him right in the face.

"You wouldn't be the first to find them… attractive," he said, sounding slightly puzzled by her laughing.

"Lucifer," she said, straddling him on the couch and holding his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch like always, and she paused there for a moment, stroking her thumbs on his cheeks. His happy little sigh had her heart twisting for him. "Those particular scars are the furthest thing from sexy I can think of."

He froze, and it was only then that she realized how that would sound to him.

"I didn't mean-" she started, but he stopped her as he easily lifted her off him and settled her down on the couch again then stood.

"It's quite alright, Detective," he said stiffly. "I understand. I do have some business that needs tending to, so I suppose I'll see you later."

"Lucifer!" she called, but he was already out the door.

She slumped back against the couch, frowning, and picked up her phone. He didn't answer his when she called it, so she decided to give him some time. Tomorrow was Saturday and he usually showed up sometime in the morning to spend the day with her and with Trixie, when she was there. She could talk to him then.

* * *

Except then he never showed. She gave him until mid-afternoon before calling again, which he ignored. Her chest felt tight as she hung up instead of leaving a message. Then—glad that Trixie was with Dan for the weekend—she got in her car and headed for Lux.

Lucifer was at the piano when the elevator doors opened, playing something sharp and angry that she didn't recognize. He slowed to a stop, his fingers resting on the keys, when she sat next to him. She left space between them even though all she wanted was the press up against him and-

"Why are you here, Detective?" he asked when she let the silence grow too long. It stung, she had to admit.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," she said lightly. "You left in a hurry last night."

"Yes, well," he said, then didn't continue.

He didn't bluster or try to draw her attention away from the upcoming conversation. He just sat there, staring at his fingers on the keys, not playing anything. She let the silence grow, giving him a chance to start, but he didn't.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he jerked, giving her a quick look of confusion and hurt.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said before she could continue, his voice tight. "You can't control who you do and do not-"

"What," she said gently and, when he looked at her uncomprehending, added, "What I do and do not find hot. Not who."

He flinched at that, looking away. She had to replay the words in her head a couple times before she realized what was objectionable about them. Then she rushed to course-correct the conversation.

"You know I think you're- you're sex on a stick," she said, face coloring at her inelegant words. She would never be able to tell him how attractive she found him with the same pretty words he could spin for her. "That- You- I mean, have you _looked_ at yourself?"

"I do have quite a few mirrors," he said with a smirk that was approaching his usual level of cocky confidence, before his face fell again. "I've never… cared what- how other people-" He made a frustrated sound. "I do know what my back looks like, Detective."

"I know," she said soothingly and put a hand over his on the keys, slipping her fingers between his. "I don't think they're ugly like you seem to think-"

"You said-" he tried to interrupt, but she stopped him.

"I didn't. I said I didn't find them sexy, and I don't. They make me too _angry_ to be-"

"Angry?" he asked, sounding bewildered. "Why would you-"

"Because you had to do that to yourself!" she burst out before he could finish the question. "It was bad enough when it was just the one time, but knowing your _Father_ -" she spit the title out in disgust "-kept making you do it again and again and just… stopped healing you? That's-"

She realized she was shaking with anger only when Lucifer turned in his seat and wrapped his arms around her.

"It's alright, darling," he said, still sounding bewildered. "I hardly ever think about cutting them off anymore."

"Not the point," she muttered, but hugged him back tightly.

* * *

"If-" she said suddenly later, when they were cuddling on the couch together with the TV on in the background "-you were thinking of cutting off your wings again, would you tell me?"

"Of course not," he said immediately, and she couldn't hide her flinch at that. He noticed, and pulled away a little to look at her, concerned. "It seems like something you would worry about and I wouldn't want to worry you."

"What if," she said, "that's something I would want to worry about?"

"Why would you _want_ to worry about anything?" he asked. His brow crinkled adorably in confusion and she reached out with her thumb, smoothing away the wrinkles. His eyes darkened at the motion, so she hurried to get her answer in before he distracted them.

"Because I love you and I want you to be happy, but I don't want you to need to hurt yourself to get that way."

He sighed and let her go, sliding away a little and sitting so he could rest his elbows on his knees and turned his head to look at her. "I don't understand why you care about this so much."

"Did you not hear me?" she said, starting to get frustrated. "I love you. I want you to be happy. I don't want you to need to hurt yourself."

"And I told you I haven't felt the need to cut them off in quite some time." He, too, was starting to get frustrated, and asked, "What is this about? Are you worried I'll cut them off and then you won't be able to satisfy your wing fetish anymore?"

"Since when do I have a wing fetish?" she asked.

She liked his wings, it was true, but she liked them because of the way touching them made him react. If they were gone, she could still draw the same noises out of him, reduce him to moans and half-uttered phrases, render him speechless. They weren't important to her.

Still, he gave her a knowing look and she added, exasperated, "Lucifer, I can not stress enough how little I would care if your wings disappeared, or you never let them out again, or _whatever_. I like them because I like you, but they're not what I love about you."

"Then why do you keep bringing this up?"

"I don't know," she had to admit. "It just- It bothers me that you went through that and I wasn't there to support you."

"But you were there," he said, frustrated. "I didn't need you to believe me to feel- Feel supported by you."

"I just want to make sure that if anything like that happens again, I can be there for you," she finally said after a pause.

"Okay," he said, shaking his head a little and sitting up. "Fine. If I ever decide to cut off my wings again I will let you know."

"Thank you," she said.

* * *

Chloe went to touch Lucifer's back absently, her hand skimming over his shoulder and down the center, while she leaned over him to read the paper. He shuddered when her hand drifted, and it took her a moment to realize she had accidentally brushed against the edge of one of his scars.

"At the risk-" Chloe said, "-of more cracks about my supposed wing and/or scar fetish, are your scars still bothering you?" 

"A bit, darling," Lucifer said, looking over his shoulder with a puzzled frown and an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders. "Why do you ask?"

"It's been awhile since you came back," she said like she wasn't still counting the time in days, in hours, in minutes since they'd been reunited. Like she wasn't still worried sometimes it was going to be torn away from her again and she was going to have to go through the grief all over. She had gotten used to counting days while he was gone, and hadn't quite been able to shake the habit yet. "I wouldn't think they'd still be bothering you."

"Mm," he said, clearly reluctant to continue the conversation but making an effort for her. "I suppose because they were made by demon blades, their healing takes more time."

"Oh," she said, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. He leaned back lightly, just a light pressure that meant he was happy to have her hand there. Happy for her to be there in spite of the topic of conversation.

"Quite," he murmured, and turned a little so he could see her more clearly. "Nothing for it but to wait, I suppose," he said, and added, "They really only bother me when I'm around you."

She didn't jerk back, but it did sting a little, the phrasing. But she supposed she should be glad that he wanted her around enough for the discomfort not to matter.

"Well since I'm the cause-" she started, and he quickly interrupted with, "I didn't say that."

She gave him a Look and he subsided, frowning but turning more toward her until he was sitting sideways in the chair and could take her hand. She let him, and squeezed his reassuringly.

"Since I'm the cause, I was thinking I could help," she said, managing not to turn it into a question through stubbornness alone. She squeezed his hand again. "I have some lotion in the bathroom that might help, and I was thinking..."

"As much as I'd love a massage, darling," he said, "they're hardly any more pleasant to touch than to look at when they're like this."

"It's just dry skin," she said, and pulled him up. He went, reluctantly. "I think it might make you feel better."

He paused, studying her, and she tried not to wilt under his intense stare. This conversation had seemed like such a good idea five minutes ago, but now she was thinking she should have just let it go.

"Alright," he said, with something of a smirk. "Lead the way."

She took him to her bedroom and had instructed him to strip with a wink, before going to retrieve the lotion from the bathroom. When she came back, he had arranged himself on the bed in a "draw me like one of your French girls" pose. She had to struggle not to laugh even as heat started to pool between her legs, and she could tell that he knew it. She could also tell he was uncomfortable from how stiffly he was holding himself, and was determined to change that.

Still, she had to pause to admire the view for a moment, eyes traveling slowly over the muscles on display. He preened under her gaze, and she felt her smile growing.

They hadn't quite managed to get to having sex yet, heavy petting sessions aside. She thought maybe Lucifer was waiting for something, because he was usually the one who pulled away. It could be frustrating, but she wasn't going to push.

So she stripped down to her underwear and crawled onto the bed. Before he could say anything about the lack of complete nakedness, she pushed him over so he landed on his back, smiling all the while, and leaned down to kiss him.

This kiss wasn't light like their previous ones. This kiss was deep and hungry and all-consuming. It sent heat traveling through her on a wave, and when she finally pulled away to breathe, she could feel that her lips were beestung. She licked them, and Lucifer followed the motion with his eyes, hunger in them.

"Roll over," she instructed and he hesitated before going on his stomach.

She rested a hand on his back for a moment, feeling the heat of him, the muscles twitching under his skin, the way he still pushed slightly into her touch. So she braced herself on the bed with one arm and let her other hand trail up his back, feeling the way he stiffened as she neared his scars. Instead of going over them, she let her hand slide up the middle of his back, over his spine, in a long, smooth stroke.

His scars were reddened and irritated. They didn't look painful so much as annoying, like itchy winter dry skin. They weren't any less horrible than the first time she saw them and she bit back a sympathetic noise that she was sure he wouldn't appreciate.

She left her hand resting between his tense shoulder blades and said, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

She met his gaze and he just looked amused. "Darling, when have I ever done anything I didn't want to?"

She could name more than a few times, but she nodded at his point. She leaned forward and kissed him again. He kissed back enthusiastically, despite the awkward angle his head was at. She hummed in appreciation and nipped at his bottom lip as she drew away.

"Okay," she said. He was smiling softly, something genuine like she had done something special for him. She'd barely started.

She straddled his thighs, lotion on the bed beside her, and just sat for a moment, studying the expanse of his back in front of her. He was tense—and not in a good way—she could see. She hadn't planned on it being a full-on massage, but he looked like he needed it.

So she put a hand on his hip to balance herself and bent down for the lotion. It wouldn't be as good as massage oil—if they were at Lucifer's, he would undoubtedly have some in the nightstand, but she wasn't as prepared for any eventuality—but it would do.

She started at the small of his back, sweeping out with a firm pressure that was more meant to relax him than undo knots. He groaned and dropped his head to where his arms were folded in front of him around one of her pillows, clearly enjoying her work. She didn't kid herself about how good of a massage it was, but he seemed to be enjoying it well enough.

As she worked her way up his back, he relaxed by degrees. She ignored his scars for the moment, working everywhere else. When she was done with his lower back, she slid up his body until she was kneeling above the small of his back. He made a soft not of inquiry, and she laughed and dropped a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades.

"Don't fall asleep," she said. "I have plans for you."

"Mm," he said, rolling his shoulders but not lifting his head. "Do tell."

"You'll just have to wait and see."

She smoothed her hands up the middle of his back and skimmed them out over his shoulders before retracing the path down. Then she dropped another kiss between his shoulder blades and leaned up to lick and nip at the shell of his ear. He moaned, and she could feel his hips twitching.

"But I suppose," she said into his ear, "a little preview wouldn't hurt."

He hummed in appreciation deep in his chest, a hum that turned disappointed as she straightened up and reached for more lotion.

She made sure her hands were warm before she touched the first scar. He gasped and she paused for a moment to let him object if he wanted to. When he didn't, she continued and his skin jumped and twitched beneath her fingertips as she spread a light layer of lotion over it.

It was pebbled and rough-looking, yes, looking exactly like what it was: a place where someone carved off a piece of him with a knife. But the skin itself was smooth and she could feel knotted muscle underneath. She was gentle as she worked with it, smoothing lotion into the skin but pressing into the muscle, trying to soothe out the knot.

When the knot on his right scar finally gave, he gasped and slumped further into the bed, going boneless underneath her.

"Did you even know that was there?" she asked, amused, and he mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow, and she laughed and switched sides.

The little sounds he was making as she worked the second scar were starting to get to her, and she shifted on his back, unable to move against him the way she wanted to until she was done working the knot out. When it finally let go and smoothed, he groaned again in appreciation.

She draped herself over his back and asked, into his ear, "Feel better?"

" _Much_ ," he said, the gratitude running deep in his voice.

"Good," she said and rolled off of him. When she turned her head to him, he was watching her with enough adoration in his eyes that she had to swallow. Then she grinned and said, "Ready for the fun part?"

The End


End file.
